Page 27 of The Captive
He tossed away the denuded daisy and stomped over to the table.
“Strawberry?” Gilly held up a large red berry, wanting to stuff it in his unsmiling mouth. She’d worried about him, and here he was, no explanation, no apologies—nothing.
Mercia took the strawberry from her fingers with his teeth, and the air between them grew less tense.
“Please do sit, Mercia. If you loom over me, you’ll spoil my digestion.”
“Heaven forfend.” He took a seat, despite his sarcastic tone.
“You are a duke,” Gilly said, putting a half-dozen fat strawberries on a plate. “This petulance does not become you, despite what you may have heard about the privileges of rank. Shall I make you a sandwich?”
He eyed the strawberries. “Some buttered bread and cheese.”
Gilly met his glacial gaze, and folded her arms across her chest. “You forgot to say please. You are being perverse, perhaps because your afternoon left you in the mood to brawl with somebody. If you must indulge a violent urge like a territorial beast of the jungle, take yourself off to Jackson’s boxing salon, then. I am a lady. I do not brawl.”
Though God knew, the very thought of plowing her fist into Greendale’s soft belly had provided her a great deal of satisfaction. Restraining the urge had provided more satisfaction yet.
She passed the duke a roll, sliced in half and liberally buttered, a thick piece of cheddar tucked between the halves. She wanted to stuff it down his throat.
Also to cry, though she’d given that up years ago.
To think she’d worried over this…this…
“My thanks.” He took the roll from her, and they ate in uncomfortable silence for some while. Gilly had to slow her own meal to allow for her companion’s deliberate pace. His Grace was incapable of bolting his grain, even after a long, hungry afternoon with the Regent.
“You’re coming undone.” He made that observation in the same tone of voice as he might have asked for the salt.
“I am slightly perturbed with you, because you have been inconsiderate. I am not undone. I am trying to make allowances.”
The light in his eyes changed, warmed a little. “No, your hair is coming down. Here.” He brushed a hand over her shoulder, where the errant curl was once again free of its pins and bouncing at liberty behind her ear.
“Feathers.” To touch one’s hair while eating was unladylike in the extreme, but there would be nothing for it.
“Hold still.” He rose and removed a pin from her coronet, caught up the rebellious curl, and fastened it securely back in place. “Why are you trying to make allowances?”
“Because we hardly know each other,” Gilly said. “You are not used to answering to a household, and I am not used to the least thing about you. You could not know I would…expect you back for tea.”
He took the last bite of his cheese sandwich and dusted his hands, stopping to peer at his left hand.
“What?” The question left Gilly’s lips unbidden.
“I ate with my left hand.”
“You hold the reins with it.”
“A single rein. I can’t ride in a double bridle. I don’t trust it for that.”
“I’ve never understood why a horse must be made to suffer two bits at once,” Gilly said. “As sensitive as the mouth is, one ought to suffice. You won’t tell me about your afternoon, will you?”
“It was unremarkable. If you’ll excuse me?”
And just like that, he was on his feet. No explanation for his delay, no apology for keeping the household guessing, no effort at making conversation.
“I wasworriedabout you. I’ll be ready to leave for Severn at first light,” Gilly said, though she was having doubts about the wisdom of that plan.
“As will I.” He went back to the bed of daisies and chose another victim. This one he held in his right hand, tapping against the knuckles of his left as the evening shadows gathered around him. “Prinny thanked me.”
Gilly bit into one of the strawberries His Grace had disdained to eat. “He ought to thank you. You served long and well.”
